Remember Me
by PhantomPhiccer
Summary: Unsettling dreams, a lingering kiss. Will Emma remember Captain Hook?
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: "Remember Me"  
FANDOM: Once Upon a Time  
GENRE: Het Romance  
PAIRING: Captain Swan  
RATING: M eventually  
COMMENTS: Takes place after "Going Home"  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine

xxXXxx

_She is lost._

_This is how it is in all her dreams. There is nothing but blackness, and she is swallowed up in it. She is moving, hands outstretched in front of her, stumbling in a blind, dark panic. _

_All she can hear is the sound of her own uneven breathing. And then there is a voice. She strains to hear it. It comes again._

"_Emma…"_

_It's like an embrace. Soft, comforting. Maternal. She turns toward the sound. It seems just there, beyond the reach of her fingertips. And then it is somewhere else. Coming from behind her this time._

"_Emma…"_

_There is another voice. Deeper and richer than the first_

"_Emma…we're here. Find us."_

"_I'm coming," she hears herself say in a high, frightened voice she barely recognizes. "Where are you?"_

_They call again, more insistent this time. From all sides, she can hear them. Two voices, and then more, blending and rising to a persistent peak._

"_Help us, Emma…we need you…"_

"_Please!" she says into the void. "Please tell me where you are. I can't find you! Please help me!"_

_There is a crescendo. Desperate, faceless voices calling out to her from all sides._

"_Please! I'm lost! I can't find you!" There are tears in her voice. She stumbles in the darkness. "Please!" _

_She moves forward with uneven steps until she finds herself in her blindness on the edge of a precipice. Her arms windmill at her sides, and then as if in slow motion, she feels herself begin to fall into the void._

_This is how it has always been since the dreams started. This is where it ends. This is where she wakes, heard pounding with fear._

_She feels herself fall, arms flying out from her sides, a foot stepping off the ground._

_And then there is a hand on her wrist, pulling her back away from the edge._

_There is someone there. The force of being pulled back has sent her spinning around, and she lands against his solid form. She rights herself with hands on his shoulders, and she can feel one arm slipping around her back, steadying her. _

"_I've got you," his voice says. The familiarity of it sends a small shiver snaking up her spine. "I've got you."_

_In the dream, she blinks her eyes. There is a sliver of light coming from somewhere in the distance. A ship. She has become accustomed to the dim, and the stranger's form begins to take shape. His hand moves, tracing the small of her back, the curve of her breast and cupping her face._

"_Who are you?" she murmurs. There is no fear in her voice. _

_He strokes her cheek with his fingertips and leans in towards her. She can feel his heat against her face as he pauses there for a moment, and then there is the softest brush of his lips against hers. _

"_Remember me, Swan."_

"_Yes…" is all she can say as his mouth finds hers. She pulls him in closer, both of her arms around him, her hands tangled in his dark hair. "Yes…"_

"MOM!"

Her eyes snapped open, and she blinked herself into awareness. She could still feel her heart racing in her chest. Her apartment. She was in her apartment. With Henry..

"What! What is it!" she said in a rush and pulled herself up to sitting. There had been a library book lying open across her chest, and it fell with a thud to the floor.

Henry was sitting at the table with his math book open and his pencil poised above a piece of paper. He was frowning at her with concern.

"Nothing. You just fell asleep on the sofa and were having a bad dream, that's all."

"Oh. A bad dream." She could feel the pink heat of a blush burn across her cheeks. "Right. Sorry."

"You've been having a lot of bad dreams lately," he said looking over at her with narrowed eyes. She didn't respond but ran a hand over her hair to smooth it. "This must've been a bad one."

"Why's that?"

"You were…I don't know…" He lowered his pencil back down to his paper and began to write. He was silent for a moment, as if he weren't sure he should go on. "You were sort of…_moaning."_

She swallowed hard and stood up from the sofa. The image from her dream of the stranger's hand brushing across her bare shoulder flickered in her mind. This wasn't something a mother should be discussing with her soon-to-be-teenage-son. She casually fussed with the magazines on the coffee table to change the subject.

"Hey, I think we're out of bread and milk."

He pushed his chair back. "I'll go."

"Nice try, mister. You've got algebra to finish."

"But it's _Saturday._ It's not due until Monday."

She headed into the bathroom with a sympathetic smile. "Tell you what. I'll shower, run down to the corner, and if you're finished by the time I get back, we'll order pizza for dinner. Deal?"

"Deal." He smiled at her and dropped his attention back to his homework.

She left a trail of clothes from her bedroom door to the shower stall and stood under the stream for a long while, letting the water run over her.

Henry was right. She _had_ had a lot of bad dreams lately. It had started about a year earlier after she and Henry had taken a weekend road trip through New England. It had been an uneventful trip. Barely memorable.

But the night they returned home, she had woken up at two o'clock drenched in sweat, breathless and unsettled. It had been that way almost every night since.

She had started keeping a dream journal at one point. At first, she would write everything down in great detail in hopes of exorcising the nightmares. Then when that didn't work, she would write down only the images and phrases that she could recall in those first breathless moments of waking. She had stopped eventually. Months ago. It hardly seemed worth it. One dream was just a variation on the one before.

Sometimes she was running from something, some unknown force that threatened to take Henry away from her. Sometimes it was the dream from today where she was swallowed up by the darkness. Other times it was only haunting voices and fractured images. But there was always the same feeling of being lost, alone, afraid.

But not today. Just at the moment she always stepped into the abyss, the stranger from this morning brought her back, and she felt an overwhelming sense of safety and peace.

No. More than that. Something else. _Desire._ She hadn't felt that way in a very long time. Had she ever?

She tried to laugh it off. It couldn't be. She had never laid eyes on him before this morning. How could she possibly desire him? A madman who shows up at her door, kisses her, and then rants about a family she doesn't have? It wasn't possible. His appearance in her dream was a random firing of synapses in her brain. One of those strange, surreal twists that happens only in dreams.

Then why, for a just a brief moment when he had kissed her, had she wanted to him to take her in his arms? Why had it, even for an instant, felt so familiar?

Even under the hot stream of water, she shivered.

She threw on clothes and muttered something to Henry as she swept back out towards the door. He muttered something in response, and she was gone. Down the elevator and out onto the sidewalk.

It was bright and loud, and she found herself scanning the street for him. There was nothing. Only the usual tourists and neighbors hurrying past her with collars turned up against the cool autumn air. She sighed and slid her hands into her pockets. He had gone.

_You're disappointed?_

She shook her head with a wry smile and walked on. She was right. He was just some guy who'd had a little too much to drink and had wandered in off the street. Wasn't the first time something like that happened in New York City. Wouldn't be the last.

She laughed mildly to herself and picked up her pace.

That was when she felt his hand on her wrist. It happened in an instant, before she could let out a cry. She felt herself being pulled into the alley next to her building. Before she could scream, his right hand clapped over her mouth, and he pinned her against the wall with his left arm.

It was him. The stranger from this morning. He was inches away from her, his mouth almost next to hers. She could feel the heat rise off of him as she had in her dream.

She tried to scream through the spaces between his fingers, but he pressed her tighter against the wall with his forearm against her chest. She winced in pain as the buttons of his jacket dug into her collarbone. He seemed to sense it and eased the pressure. Her chest rose up and down in heavy breaths, more in anger that he had gotten the drop on her than from the fear of him.

"I won't hurt you," he said in a rough whisper. He looked at her, his eyes pleading, and open and she knew instinctively that he would not. "Now. If I take my hand off your mouth, will you promise not to kick me in the bollocks again?"

She nodded her head up and down and he slowly slid his hand away from her mouth, moving it to her shoulder. She let her breathing ease for a moment.

"Who do you think you are?" she said, wriggling her shoulder out from under his hand.

"I told you. An old friend." There was the hint of a sad smile that passed over his lips, but then he looked away. "I know you don't remember me."

"You're damn right I don't."

"More's the pity, then," he said. He raised an eyebrow. A smile curled at his lips, but his eyes were dark.

He took a step away from her then. She could have slipped away from him easily. It was as if he were testing her, to see if she would run. She thought of it for a moment. Darting out of the alley and flagging down the nearest cop. He couldn't have caught her.

But she didn't. She folded her arms across her chest. "All right. You gonna tell me what this about, Captain Hook?"

He smiled a hopeful smile and took a step in towards her. "That's what you call me. You _do _remember me…"

"What? No! It's just your…_thing_…your _hook. _Like the story." He looked down at his severed left hand and moved it almost self-consciously behind his back. "Gotta admit that's a nice touch. The hook. Did you get separated from your Pirate Pride Parade or are you the lost member of the Village People?"

His eyes dropped to the ground, and she could tell she'd hurt him.

"I know you don't believe me, but you have to listen, Swan."

"I don't _have _to do _anything_, buddy. And are you gonna tell me how you know my name?"

"We knew each other once. And now I need you to come with me. Your family's in danger."

She jerked her chin in the direction of her apartment building. "My _family_ is upstairs doing his algebra homework, and he seems pretty OK to me."

"Yes, Henry. This is about him, too."

In a flash, she had the lapels of his leather coat in her hands. The force of it caught him off guard, and he stumbled backward to where she pinned him this time against the opposite wall of the narrow alley. "What do you know about Henry?" she said through clenched teeth. "Leave him out of this. You stay away from my son."

"Henry is in no danger from me. I've risked my life to save his. More than once." He raised his arms as if in surrender. "You said to me once that you had a way of knowing when people were telling the truth. Look at me now, Emma. What do you see?" His voice was soft and pleading. She loosened her grip on his coat. She had seen enough in her line of work to be able to read people like him. He wasn't exactly an upright citizen. Of that she was certain. He was devious. Dangerous, even. But he wasn't crazy. And he certainly wasn't drunk.

She scanned his face. His blue eyes were full of such an imploring sadness that for a moment she forgot to breathe. Whoever he was, he wanted her, _needed _her to believe him. When she spoke, it was in soft tones that matched the stranger's. "I believe you _think_ you're telling the truth."

"It's a start," he said, one side of his mouth curled up again into a smile.

She folded her arms against herself again. There was no earthly reason why she should still be here, but something was keeping her rooted to the spot. "You've got about five minutes to tell me how I'm supposed to know you and what the hell you want from me before I call the cops."

He stood up with a deep breath and ran a hand over his rough beard before. speaking. "All this…" he swept an arm in front of him and out toward the street. "It's a lie. The memories you have of the last decade of your life. You and Henry. It isn't real."

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "What, so you're saying Henry isn't really my son?"

"No, he is. You gave birth to him." He looked away. "But then you gave him up for adoption. You didn't see him again for ten years. You didn't raise him, Emma."

She should go. She should run and not look back. She would have done it if there hadn't been a small part of her that believed him. Something in his voice. Something about _him_. She found she couldn't move.

"No no no no no," she said with a finger lifted to her apartment window above her. "You're…you're wrong. Henry's _mine. _I raised him. I know I did."

"No." He shook his head once. His voice was tinged with a gentle sadness. "You only _think_ you did."

"It's not true." She stumbled backwards. It couldn't be true. Could it? She had held him in her arms when he was a newborn and had never let go. She had raised him. Almost thirteen years of memories.

"Think about it, Emma. What do you really remember of Henry's childhood? Did he break any bones? When did he take his first steps? What did you do on his first birthday?"

"That's easy…" she started firmly, and then stopped herself. Suddenly the memory of it seemed more like something she had read in a book than lived. She went on in a thin, uncertain voice. "We had cake and ice cream."

"Where? Who was there? Did you help him open his presents?" She searched her memory for something. Some small detail. All the Christmases and birthdays and first days of school. It was all a blur. She knew it had happened. It _must_ have. "You can't remember, can you? Not really."

"_Stop!_" She turned to go this time, to leave him there as tears started to flood her eyes. But he caught her wrist in his hand again.

"You know it's true, Emma. Some part of you knows it or you wouldn't still be here" he whispered. He was closer to the truth than he knew.

She drew a steadying breath. "None of it's real?"

"From the time Henry was born until about a year ago."

_A year ago. When the dreams started._

The alley began to spin around her, and she shut her eyes tight against it.

"Something happened a year ago, Emma. Didn't it?" he said in realization. "You suddenly found yourself driving down a road in the middle of nowhere not entirely certain how you got there or why. I'm right, aren't I?"

She nodded up and down once, her eyes still shut tight. It was true. The weekend road trip through New England. It was if she had been awakened from a long sleep and plunked down in someone else's life, already in progress. She knew who she was, who Henry was, but she couldn't quite piece together how she had gotten there. She thought she could remember leaving home the previous Friday. The motel where they had stayed. The diner where they had eaten dinner.

But she couldn't remember anything else. The meal they shared. The conversations. The little inside jokes between mothers and sons. She blamed it on the after effects of a bad head cold and too much Nyquil and swept it into a dark corner of her mind, never to be thought of again.

She could feel her knees begin to buckle. She was falling, but then he had her by the elbows, pulling her back up to her feet. She fell against him for a moment. It would be so easy….so easy just to stay here. But then she pushed him away and stood in front of him with squared shoulders.

"Then what really happened to me? Where have Henry and I really been for the last decade?"

"It's…complicated."

"Try me."

He smiled and reached out his hand for her. She stepped away from him, and he drew his hand back. "You found your son. You saved hundreds of lives." There was a beat. "You sailed with me on my ship," he murmured. She allowed him a step closer. "And now you need to come back with me."

"Why?" She lifted her chin and looked back at him defiantly. "Why do I need to go anywhere with you? Some Captain Jack Sparrow wannabe in tight pants?"

He put his hands on his hips and sighed. He looked away sheepishly for a moment and then turned to her, his eyes locked onto hers.

"Because you're the Savior."

She felt the air leave her body in a long, exasperated exhalation. "You've got to be kidding me. Is that what this is? Some bizarre pirate cult? I'm nobody's savior."

"Emma, please listen…"

She ignored him and went on. "You know what? I almost bought it. You almost had me going, buddy. The whole sincerity thing? It's really working for you." She wheeled around and started back out onto the street, but he blocked her way. "Get out of my way. _Now."_

"It's the truth. You know it is."

"Stay away from me. Stay away from my son, or so help me…" Her eyes dropped down to his leather trousers. "The next time I see you, it's not just your _bollocks_ you'll have to protect."

They stood that way for a long moment, eye to eye. She could feel her knees shake, but she held her ground. Finally, he stepped aside and let her go. "As you wish." She shivered as he skimmed the back of her hand with his fingers as she passed. He went on in a husky whisper. "This isn't over, Swan. I'll wait for you to come to me. On your own terms. And you will."

She hurried on, his voice still in her ears as she numbly made her way back up to the apartment.

xxXXxx

"Where's the stuff?"

Henry was there on the sofa with the video game controls in his lap.

"Huh? Oh, the groceries." She looked down at her empty arms that hung limply at her sides. "I…got all the way through the line when I realized I forgot my wallet," she said flatly. "I'll go back out later."

He shrugged and went back to his game.

"Henry? What did we on your fifth birthday?"

"I don't know, mom," he said without looking away from the TV. "I was five."

"Do you remember _anything?_"

"I guess we had cake and ice cream like we always do. Every year."

"I know, but…" She sat down on the edge of the sofa next to him. "What did we _do?_ Did you have kids over? Did we go anywhere? Chuck E. Cheese? Did you have fun?"

"I don't know. I'm sure we did _something _ fun. I don't really remember," he said with an indifferent shrug, and then finally looked up from his game. "Does it matter?" He gave her a smile, and for a moment, all seemed right again. She smiled back.

"No. No, it doesn't." She rose and headed into her bedroom with a bounce in her step. "Why don't you order the pizza? Whatever you want. Except anchovies."

She grabbed the book she had abandoned earlier that day and propped up in bed. It meant nothing. She would simply sweep him away and not think of him again. She had gotten very good at doing that these last months.

She tried to read, turning the pages absently, not really absorbing anything. She could still sense him, the smell and feel of him against her.

The dream journal was still there where she had left it months before. Finally, she closed the book and picked up the journal from the bedside table. She thumbed through the pages. The earlier entries were full paragraphs written in a neat, deliberate hand. Towards the middle, there were hastily scribbled words and phrases, and then finally nothing but blank pages.

She stopped and skimmed through the last several entries. On one page she had written. "Apple" and "Dark One." It meant nothing to her now. It was all from a faded dream. She moved on to the next page, her index finger moving down the lines.

"Mother" and "dreamshade" and "curse."

It was all nonsense. Why had she been so afraid? It all seemed so silly now.

She moved on to the last written page, not really certain what she was looking for. Her eyes darted across the page, and then stopped. She drew in a sharp breath.

_Savior_.

And then the word below it.

_Hook._

She slammed the journal shut and dropped it on her bed as if it had burned her fingers.

She knew him. She had dreamed of him before today. Somehow, she knew him. If that were true, then what if everything he said were true?

She curled herself into a ball on the bed and drew her knees to her chest, the sting of his kiss and the feel of his fingers still lingering.

END CHAPTER ONE


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is a brief chapter, more like Chapter 1a than Chapter 2. There is more Captain Swan interaction to follow. My fics tend to be short on action and long on angst. If you're looking for intricate plotting and a driving narrative, this is not the story for you. If you're looking for moody pieces with lots of romance, angst with a happy ending, and a smattering of smutty bits, you might just enjoy this. Thank you to those who have read, reviewed, and favorited. I really appreciate it.

xxXXxx

CHAPTER TWO

He watched from the pavement across the street from her building as the lamp clicked off in her bedroom window.

He had waited there, hoping that something he had said or done in that alley had stirred her memories and that she would come to him. But now it was dark. A light drizzle had begun to fall, and he knew she would not come. Not tonight.

His only consolation was that a small part of her knew had to know that what he said was the truth. It was the reason sleep had eluded her long past midnight. He had watched her pace in her bedroom for an hour after she had left him there in the alley. For a moment she had stopped, covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders shook with hard sobs.

It had taken all he had not to burst her door down and wrap himself around her to comfort her. But then, as suddenly as it had started, her crying eased again. She squared her shoulders and wiped at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. She was too strong to lose herself to tears.

He smiled to himself. _That's my girl. _

He had known loss before. There was the day Liam had died in his arms as the dreamshade coursed through his body and stopped his heart. It wasn't just the loss of his brother, but the betrayal of everything he believed in that sent him reeling.

Then he had fallen in love with Milah, and she had awoken something in him he thought had died with his brother. He had watched, powerless to save her, as the Dark One had murdered her on the deck of the Jolly Roger. He had closed his heart to any emotion but vengeance after that day. Never knowing love seemed a small price to pay for never feeling the pain of its loss again.

And then he had met Emma. She reminded him of Milah in some ways. But she was very much her own woman, too. She was brave and clever. Fiercely loyal. She could be fearless and vulnerable all in the same moment, and when he was near her, he felt that even he might lose the power of speech. With her, he had let down his guard in a way he hadn't even done with his beloved Milah. She was a worthy partner, and he knew that he could no longer pretend that he had lost the capacity to love.

But then, he had lost her, too. She had driven away from him as the curse's thick fog had overtaken them all. He could bear her being taken from him. Even then, standing on the edge of Storybrooke as they said their goodbyes, he knew he would see her again.

But would she ever remember him? Would all that had passed between them mean nothing to her? That was what he could not bear.

_The kiss. _

They had kissed once before. He had convinced himself for all those months since he had met her, since they had climbed the beanstalk together, that she was just another in a long line of women he could charm. Bed, even. But she meant nothing to him. Then she had kissed him, and he knew it wasn't true. It hadn't been true for some time.

He had kissed her again that morning on her doorstep. Regina had warned him that the true love's kiss wouldn't work. Not if she had no memory of him. But she had also warned him that although she had given Emma new memories of her life with Henry, she could not wipe away her memories of Storybrooke. Not completely anyway.

There was a chance that memories might bleed through like old wallpaper from under a coat of paint, Regina told him. Things that mattered. Things she feared. Things she loved.

Oh, he could have her if he wanted. He was a pirate. He was used to taking what he what he desired. But not with a woman. Never with a woman. He had told her once before. When he finally won her heart, and he would, it would be because she wanted him.

He watched as the light in her bedroom window clicked on again. He could see her silhouetted against the window as she rose from her bed and crossed wearily toward the kitchen. She had given up on sleep for the night.

He smiled to himself, even as a heavy rain began to fall.

She would come to him. She would choose him. It was only a matter of time.

She would remember.

END CHAPTER TWO


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

_She is waking from a light sleep. She is first aware of the steady rocking of a ship. It rises on a wave and eases gently again. Then, she is aware of the sunlight streaming through the shutters on the windows as she opens her eyes._

_It is morning. An ocean breeze drifts in and brushes against her bare shoulders. She can hear gulls somewhere in the distance and the hum of men's voices calling to each other from somewhere above her. She stretches her limbs out like a cat and lets out a small noise of contentment. _

_There is movement in the bed next to her. The mattress shifts and sags under his weight, and she smiles to herself as he moves in next to her._

"_Good morning." His voice is rough with sleep as he presses his lips against her ear. _

"_It is a good morning," she murmurs drowsily and rolls over to face him. He pulls her in closer, tracing little circles on her back with his fingertips. "You found me." _

"_I will always find you, love." The ship undulates gently beneath them. He brushes a stray strand of hair from her cheek. _

_She looks up at him then. His eyes. So blue. She holds his gaze there for a moment until his mouth drops onto hers, and he moves her onto her back._

_She gives him a light, teasing little laugh as his lips follow her jawline and down the curve of her neck. Her hands stroke his dark hair as he drops a kiss in the notch at the base of her throat, moving down to the hollow between her breasts._

_She closes her eyes and arches her neck as he moves downward, dropping kisses across her midriff and then lower. "Killian…" she murmurs throatily._

"_Wake up!"_

_Her eyes snap open, and he rolls back over onto his side. A voice calls. There is a knock at the door to his cabin. _

"_Wake up! Wake up in there!"_

"_Damn," he mutters, and then turns to her. "This isn't over, Emma."_

_Then suddenly, he is gone, and the bed is cold and empty._

"Wake up! Mom!"

She woke up with a start. She was in her own bed in her own apartment, sheets twisted around her, and it was Henry banging insistently at her door. She sat panting breathlessly for a moment before rising and opening the door.

"You've got lousy timing, kid." She leaned groggily against the doorframe.

Henry wrinkled his nose. "Huh?"

"Nothing. Never mind." She gave him a light wave of the hand. "What are you doing? It's late."

Henry looked up at her impatiently. "It's not that late, mom. You just went to bed early."

She looked back at the clock at her bedside. It was only 9:15.

"Well, what's so important you woke me up?"

"Kyle just texted me. His dad said it would be OK if I came up for sleepover."

"It's Sunday." She shook her head sleepily. "It's a school night."

"No school tomorrow. Remember? In-service day."

She sighed. She had forgotten all about the annual teacher workday. She hadn't exactly been in full possession of her wits this weekend. "Oh, right. Sure. Just take your toothbrush."

But he was already off with an eyeroll. "I will."

"And a change of underwear."

"_Mom!"_ He drew the word out into five syllables.

She waited until she heard the apartment door click shut behind him before moving from the spot. She was wide-awake now. It was a mistake going to bed so early, but at eight o'clock, she found she could no longer keep her eyes open.

Was it any wonder? She hadn't slept at all the night before after finding the stranger's name in her dream journal. She had watched the numbers on her bedside clock creep past midnight, but she was no closer to sleep than she'd been hours earlier.

Her mind had roiled. She knew him. Somehow. But what about the rest of it? Was her life with Henry really just a lie? And if so, where had she really been for the last ten years? And how did the dark, handsome stranger fit into her life?

Her nightly sleep had been interrupted for a year now by unsettling dreams. But tonight's dream was something altogether different. Her senses were flooded by it. The swelling motion of the ship. His dark scent. The feel of her naked skin against his. It had all been so vivid, so…_intoxicating._

She shook the thought from her head and stumbled into the next room. The rain was holding steady outside with no signs of letting up. The dull greyness matched her mood, and she had drifted through the day under a storm cloud. Henry had noticed it, eyeing her with concern and an occasional, "Are you okay, mom?" She had gotten used to replying with a numb, rote: "I'm fine. It's nothing."

The streetlight across the street flickered on and off, and she stood at the window with her arms wrapped around her middle. The light flared brightly for a moment, and a car's passing headlight lit up the storefront across the street. There was someone there.

It was him. She had stood at this window just before bed, and the sidewalk there had been empty. Now, he had returned. He was standing under the shop's awning for shelter, but it wasn't completely able to shield him from the driving rain.

"_Killian…"_ she was surprised to hear herself say aloud, as she had in her dream. She was just as surprised to realize that she wasn't entirely sorry to see him. She stood for a moment with her fingertips against the cold, rain-streaked window before crossing to the bedroom and throwing on a pair of jeans.

She stood with her hand on the doorknob. This was insanity. She shouldn't go down there. She wouldn't. But then she turned the knob and hurried down to the street.

When she pushed open the front door of her building, he turned his head expectantly in her direction. His face registered nothing, but a small flicker of a smile, and he watched as she dodged the puddles in the street and hurried to stand under the awning next to him.

His hair was matted down by rain, and a dark fringe hung in his eyes, making him look a schoolboy. He waited for her to speak.

"Your real name. It's Killian. Isn't it."

"Yes."

"I don't remember you." It wasn't the entire truth.

He nodded up and down sadly, but there was hope in his voice. "I know."

"But I'm willing to accept that I knew you before."

One corner of his mouth curled up into a smile. She had seen it before in the alley. It was meant to be brash, she knew, but it couldn't mask his genuine relief.

"So…what do we do now?" Her eyes darted away for a moment. She was afraid. He could see it in her eyes. It was what he had come to love about her. The way she would try to hide her fears and be strong for everyone around her. But he could sense it, in small, frightened looks that no one else was meant to see.

"For a start, you could invite me upstairs before we both float away," he said gently, hoping it would make her smile. She turned with a nod, and he knew he was meant to follow her.

They walked silently back into her building, and they rode up on the elevator together, the space between them thick with tension. She pushed open the door of her apartment, and he took a cautious step inside.

"Where's Henry?"

"Sleeping over at a friend's house," she said, and then added, "Don't get any ideas." He gave her a look of feigned offense. She ignored him and gestured to her bedroom door with a nod of her head. "Bedroom's through there…"

"_Now_ who's getting ideas?"

"I meant the _shower_ is in there." She rolled her eyes. "You can dry off. Clean up."

She led him into the bathroom and turned the water on for him. "Sorry, it's…." she started, and then stopped herself.

"A bit of a two-handed operation?" he asked wryly. "Don't worry. I'm quite deft with just the one."

"Do you always do this?" she snapped. "The repartee? The double entendres?"

He looked back at her for a long moment. She was lost and afraid, even if she was trying very hard not to show him. It pained him to think he was the cause of her hear. He softened, reaching out to her with a gentle, sincere gesture of the hand. "I'm sorry," he said, willing her not to cry. He couldn't bear it if she cried.

"There are clean towels on the rack if you need them," she mumbled quickly and left him there, pausing for a moment in the doorway of her bedroom. She could see his shadow spilling out from the bathroom and across her bed and then there was the faint noise of his clothes dropping onto the floor. She shivered and went out into the living room.

xxXXxx

She was curled up in one corner of the sofa when he finally came out. He was toweling his hair dry and wearing only what looked like a set of old-fashioned men's underwear. They came down to the knee and buttoned up at the fly like breeches. The thin cotton fabric left very little to the imagination. Her eyes darted away when he entered the room.

"Sorry. Clothes are wet," he said before she could protest. His voice dropped low. "And there weren't any men's clothes in your closet to borrow."

He was making a point, of course. She wanted to reprimand him for invading her privacy, but she didn't have the energy. After a beat, he crossed and sat cautiously next to her on the sofa. It was a long moment before she spoke.

"What happened to me and Henry? Why can't I remember everything? Was there an accident? Some kind of psychological trauma?"

He sighed. He had just gotten her to believe that she had known him before. Bringing spells and magic into it would only set her back again.

"Psychological trauma. Something like that." He knew she didn't quite believe it, but it was as satisfactory an answer as any for the moment. The truth would have to wait.

"So…if this is all a lie, where have I really been for the past ten-something years?"

He weighed it in his mind carefully before going on. He took a deep breath. "For the last two years, you've been the sheriff of a small town in Maine called Storybrooke. Henry was there, too. Before that…I don't know."

She sat there in silence, taking it all in. He inched closer to her. He waited for her to move away, but she didn't.

"I want to remember."

"You will. I can help you."

She studied his face for a moment.

"You said we were old friends. Just how good of friends were we?"

"We were…" He considered his answer. He wouldn't lie. He had meant it when he told her he would not resort to trickery to win her. But he would, perhaps, shade the truth. "When I kissed you yesterday. It wasn't exactly our first time sharing an intimate moment."

She nodded as if his answer had not surprised her.

"This…_other _life you say I was living. Was I happy?"

It was another question he knew he couldn't answer with full truthfulness. "You had happiness in your life. A great deal of it. But there were dark forces that threatened your happiness. Dark forces that are still at work."

She rose from the sofa and paced the floor in front of them, raising her hands above her head in exasperation. "Well, you're just making this sound better and better all the time. I've got a good life here. Great job. Henry's happy. And you expect me to give that all up, for what? So I can go battle _dark forces? _Go be some kind of savior for a bunch of people I can't remember? _Why_? Why would I do that?"

"Because I know you, Emma. The memories you have aren't real. And I know you'd rather have pain that is real and true than a lifetime of happy lies."

He was right. She'd been lied to her whole childhood – by social workers that told her she'd find her forever home. By foster parents who told her they would love her as their own, only to abandon her at the first sign of trouble. But it was her pain, and she had lived through it. It had made her who she was, and she couldn't regret any of it. If the other life was truly her _real_ life, then she needed to find those memories again.

She turned to face him again, her hands on hips, chin raised resolutely. It was a look he recognized well, and at that moment, he knew she would follow him. "All right," she said as bravely as she could manage. "What do we do?"

"You come with me. We'll leave at first light. I can help you get your memories back. I know you have no earthly reason to, but I need you to trust me."

"I'll go. But not Henry. Not yet anyway. I can't make that decision for him. He'll stay here with his friend's family." Overwhelmed and exhausted, she suddenly felt she could no longer keep her eyes open. She closed her eyes to keep the room from spinning around her. "You can stay here. On the sofa. And no funny business."

"You never have to be afraid of me, Emma. I would never force myself on a woman. _Bad form. _I wait for her to come to me."

"How chivalrous."

He shrugged lightly. "I generally don't have to wait very long."

She opened her mouth to give him a reply, but then she saw that he hadn't meant it as some witty riposte, it was simply a statement of fact. She could feel redness bloom in her cheeks.

"I shouldn't trust you."

"But you do."

"Yes. God help me." She turned and shuffled towards her bedroom. "You can sleep on the sofa. There are extra blankets in the closet over there," she said over her shoulder. She stopped in the doorway and gave him one last look. "Good night."

He said nothing but watched her go and then laid himself down on the sofa looking up at the ceiling with one arm tucked behind his head. He lay in the dark awake for a long time, long after the soft, final click of her bedside lamp.

xxXXxx

He was awakened by the sound of a muffled scream.

He sat upright, getting his bearings as his eyes adjusted to the dim. He heard it again, another cry coming from Emma's bedroom. He leapt over the back of the sofa and ran into her room. He could just make her out in the dark. She was still asleep, writhing with the sheets gripped in her hands

"Emma! It's all right." He touched her hand, and she sat bolt upright with a sharp inhalation. She seemed for a moment not to see or hear him. She sat taking ragged breaths with the covers clutched to her chest. "You're all right."

He chanced a small touch of his fingers against the back of her hand. She let out a terrified cry and swatted blindly at him. "Sssh! Emma, you're all right," he said as he caught her wrists in his hand and pulled her against him. He smoothed the hair away from her face. "I'm here. It was just a nightmare. You're safe." His voice was low and soothing.

He could feel her heart beating wildly against his chest, and he sat holding her in the stillness until her breathing evened. Finally, she lifted her head. "Henry…he was dead. He was lost and alone. I could hear him calling me. And then when I finally found him, something…_evil_ tore his heart out of his chest."

"It's all right. Henry's safe."

"It was so real."

He pulled her to him again, and she let him. He wouldn't tell her yet just how real it had been.

"I won't let anyone hurt you, Emma."

He held her for a long time until he could feel her grow limp in his arms. He lowered her gently onto the bed and sat there for a moment in the half-dark. Finally, he lifted his legs and stretched them out on the bed in front of him before curling himself against her body and drifting off into a sleep.

END CHAPTER THREE


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